Chapter 26
Chi Lin, refreshed from her meditation, returned to the house to find breakfast ready, thanks to Peng Ziyuan and “Sir.”
After breakfast, Peng Ziyuan offered to drive Chi Lin to school, but Chi Lin declined.
“I’ll take a taxi.”
On the way to school, she checked her phone. Several WeChat messages awaited her.
Two from Lin Xiaozhi, sent around 8 pm last night, with completed homework attached. “Standard answers. Copy away.”
This class president is… interesting…
And a flurry of messages from the Class Six group chat, always buzzing with activity, uninhibited by Ms. Qi’s presence. Chi Lin, determined to integrate into this era, diligently read every message, no matter how trivial, hoping to blend in seamlessly and avoid any communication barriers with the Empress’s reincarnation.
As she scrolled through the messages, still pondering her next move in her search, she saw her name mentioned.
“…talking about Chi Lin?”
She paused, scrolling back. Her classmates were discussing a new trending post on the school forum.
Title: Someone’s “Dry Sister” Finally Revealed!
Chi Lin opened the forum. The anonymous post, lacking any pictures, contained a single line of text, punctuated by numerous exclamation points:
“I saw someone from Class Six, Grade Two, and her ‘dry sister’ at Convergence Mall today! The ‘dry sister’ bought her so much stuff, she couldn’t even carry it all! And they were hugging! cl, are you being kept? Have you no shame?!”
Replies:
Teng Jiang, Class One, Grade Two: “Someone’s excited. Why anonymous? Too scared to show your face?”
Peach Blossom Pool [Admin]: “I can write a hundred of these baseless accusations in a minute. Post proof within thirty minutes, or the post will be deleted, and your IP address blocked.”
On the Path to Success: “They’re talking about Chi Lin. ‘cl.’ It’s obvious. Any proof? You know what I mean.”
Teng Jiang, Class One, Grade Two: “Clearly not. Otherwise, they would have posted it.”
Wei Zhuoning, Class Six, Grade Two: “Stop wasting everyone’s time! I know who you are, even if you’re anonymous!”
…
Hasn’t lhx learned her lesson? Chi Lin thought, closing the forum. Such childish games were a waste of her time. She logged into the digital archive, resuming her search for clues about the Yuan Dynasty.
She quickly forgot about the forum post, her mind preoccupied with her studies and her search for the Empress. The National Teacher’s Soul-Chasing Secret Art had not only placed her in the body of someone with the same name but also someone with a reputation for academic failure, a convenient disguise. She could have ignored her studies entirely, her failing grades easily dismissed as typical for a “bad student.” But she wanted to understand this world, believing that knowledge would aid her search. And she was too proud to accept failure in any aspect of her life.
Her days were filled with activity, from studying to researching, keeping “Sir” busy with her endless questions. She slept no more than five hours a night, aided by this era’s readily available caffeine, a far more effective and less painful method of staying awake than the ancient practices of tying one’s hair to a beam or pricking one’s thighs with needles. Besides coffee, there were also energy drinks and pills, reminding her of the stimulants used by scholars in Dayuan, often with detrimental side effects. She stuck to coffee.
Lou Mi, however, seemed to rely on these stimulants. Her car and her room were filled with various pills and potions. Chi Lin, initially unaware of their purpose, had used her phone to scan the labels, discovering a variety of energy boosters and cognitive enhancers.
Lou Lixing and Peng Ziyuan were early risers, dedicating their lives to their work. Chi Lin was a night owl, maximizing every minute of her day. Lou Mi’s sleep schedule was erratic, sleeping whenever she could. Sometimes, she would be going to bed as they were waking up, and vice versa. Due to her demanding career, they often communicated only through WeChat, even while living under the same roof.
One weekend, while having breakfast alone, Chi Lin found a nearly empty pill bottle under the table. How did this get here? She recognized the green bottle.
Lou Mi emerged from her room, her hair messy, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. As she rounded the corner, the bright sunlight made her wince, and she turned away.
Chi Lin immediately instructed “Sir” to tint the windows.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Sorry, I didn’t see you coming.”
Lou Mi waved her hand dismissively and began wandering around the living room, pausing at the TV cabinet, staring at it blankly, then heading towards her bedroom, stopping midway, as if lost in thought, her brow furrowed.
Chi Lin approached her, holding the pill bottle. “Are you looking for this?”
Seeing the bottle, Lou Mi’s expression changed. Before Chi Lin could react, she lunged forward, pinning her against the wall, snatching the bottle.
Chi Lin, startled, instinctively raised her arm in a defensive posture.
Lou Mi held her wrist against the wall, the pill bottle clutched in her other hand, trapping Chi Lin within her arms. Her expression, initially fierce, softened as she looked at Chi Lin’s face.
“Sorry…” she mumbled, noticing the dent in the bottle from her tight grip. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Chi Lin, sensing her distress, shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Lou Mi’s forehead was damp with sweat. She forced a smile, realizing she was still holding Chi Lin’s wrist. She tried to let go, but her body felt stiff and unresponsive.
Chi Lin, noticing her discomfort, released her wrist and began massaging Lou Mi’s arm and shoulder, easing the tension.
“Come, sit down,” she said, leading Lou Mi to the sofa, pouring her a glass of water, and opening the pill bottle. “Now?”
Lou Mi nodded.
Following the instructions on the label, Chi Lin poured out two pills. Lou Mi swallowed them with water, closed her eyes for a moment, and then sighed, the tension leaving her body.
When she opened her eyes, Chi Lin was still there, holding another glass of water.
“More?”
Lou Mi took the glass. “Thanks. Don’t worry. I’m just… a bit stressed, not crazy.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
Lou Mi glanced at Chi Lin’s reddened wrist, feeling a pang of guilt. “Does it hurt? Let me see.”
Chi Lin flexed her wrist, smiling. “It’s fine. You’re not that strong.”
“If I could break your wrist with one hand, I’d be terrifying…”
Looking at Lou Mi’s pale face, Chi Lin asked, “Are those… neuron stimulants?”
“Wow, you can read those complicated English words now? Impressive.”
“I used my phone.”
“Right. Of course.”
“It also says these pills have side effects… potentially accelerating neuron cell death.” While unfamiliar with the term “neuron cell,” she understood it was related to the brain, and “death” was never a good sign.
Lou Mi, however, maintained a casual tone. “Every medicine has side effects. Why focus on the negative? They have benefits too.”
Chi Lin, knowing nothing about modern medicine, wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth. Pressing the issue further seemed intrusive.
“So you were looking for this when you came out of your room?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yes,” Lou Mi said, checking the pills for damage. She had clearly been searching for something, her eyes unfocused, lost in thought.
“Don’t worry, I’m perfectly healthy. Where are the others?”
“They left for work,” Chi Lin replied.
“Working on a weekend? Why bother with excuses? Just admit they went on a date.” She looked at Chi Lin. “So, do you still… mind?”
Chi Lin understood. The original Chi Lin had resented Peng Ziyuan’s new relationship. But it wasn’t Chi Lin’s place to comment on such a sensitive matter. She remained silent.
Lou Mi, assuming Chi Lin’s recent changes indicated acceptance, didn’t press further. Everyone has their own burdens, she thought.
She went to her room and ate a quick breakfast. Her desk was a mess of monitors, gaming keyboards, holographic gear, strategy maps, and notepads. But one corner remained meticulously clean and organized, displaying two framed photos: a family portrait from her high school days, taken shortly before her mother’s death, showing a younger Lou Mi, flanked by her smiling parents, and a photo of the Nine Heavens team receiving their first championship trophy two years ago, confetti raining down, Futu crying tears of joy, Xie Buyu comforting and teasing her, Xiao V spraying champagne, and A Bao, standing in the corner, looking at Lou Mi.
Her mother and the Nine Heavens team… She had lost both.
She sat at her desk, lost in thought.
The neuron stimulants, as their name suggested, temporarily boosted brain function, enhancing reaction time and cognitive abilities. They weren’t illegal, but they weren’t exactly beneficial either. She had been taking them for six months, discovering that they not only provided the advertised boost but also alleviated her forgetfulness. After each dose, she would remember small, seemingly insignificant details from years past, things she thought she had forgotten. The increasing forgetfulness terrified her. After the second round of treatment, her headaches had improved, but her memory had worsened. This morning, she had been searching for something in the living room, a clear intention in her mind, but after taking a few steps, a fleeting thought had distracted her, and she had completely forgotten what she was looking for. Even the distracting thought was now lost. She didn’t even remember how she had gotten home from the club last night. She couldn’t tell Dr. Bai about the stimulants, unsure if they were exacerbating her memory problems. But without them, she feared a rapid decline into Alzheimer’s. Four years ago, holographic gaming syndrome, along with family history, thyroid problems, head trauma, and viral infections, had been identified as a significant risk factor for early-onset Alzheimer’s. Holographic gaming relied heavily on neuronal activity, and Lou Mi had spent more time in virtual reality than in real life since she was sixteen. If not for the debilitating symptoms of holographic gaming syndrome, she would have continued. Last year, three female professional esports players, all around twenty-four years old, had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. The oldest, a twenty-six-year-old Russian player, had died in the spring. A recent medical journal article had suggested that professional esports players might redefine Alzheimer’s. Lou Mi knew she might be one of them.
She didn’t want to forget. If she forgot her passion, her mother, herself… who would remember for her?
She didn’t log into the game or go to the club. She left the stimulants on her desk and went to bed.
She woke up to daylight, having slept for an entire day. It was 6:50 am on Monday. Her head throbbed slightly. Her PT index was 4.9, several times higher than normal, yet it felt like a minor ache. She had grown accustomed to the pain.
Her car was at the mechanic’s. It was raining outside. Groggy from sleep, she sent a message to Lan Jie, saying she would come to the club tomorrow. She planned to spend the day relaxing at home, watching movies and TV shows.
Just then, a message from Lou Lixing arrived, asking her to pick up Chi Lin after school and take her to their parents’ house for dinner. It was their grandfather’s birthday.
“Can we go another day?” Lou Mi replied.
“Can Grandpa have his birthday another day?”
His birthday… I completely forgot. She needed to start using her phone’s reminder app, with alarms. She could forget anything else, but not her grandparents’ birthdays. She had been very close to them, having lunch at their house every day during elementary school, when her grandparents, newly retired, had showered her with love and home-cooked meals. They had never forgotten her birthday. She couldn’t be so ungrateful.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! I haven’t gotten him a present!”
“Don’t worry, dear. You’re busy. It’s understandable. I got you both presents. They’re in the closet. Just bring them with you when you pick up Xiao Lin.”
Such a thoughtful dad… She would be nice to him for the next few days.
Excited about seeing her grandparents, she took a long bath, listened to music, and watched a movie, giving her brain a much-needed break from holographic entertainment.
Calculating Chi Lin’s dismissal time, she grabbed the presents and took a taxi to the school.
Classes had run late. Chi Lin was finally released at 6:30 pm. She checked her phone. Lou Mi was waiting for her at the taxi stand on the east side of the school. Peng Ziyuan had already told her about the birthday dinner. Lou Mi’s message had been sent forty-five minutes ago. She’s been waiting in the rain for that long?
She quickly gathered her things.
“Plans tonight?” Lin Xiaozhi asked, noticing her haste.
“Birthday dinner at my grandparents’ house,” Chi Lin replied.
“Don’t put too many candles on the cake. You’ll start a fire,” Lin Xiaozhi said, her usual playful self.
Chi Lin, amused by her quirky humor, thought, Why is she standing so close?
Unaware of the intense gaze directed at them from behind, Chi Lin continued packing.
Wei Zhuoning, watching them whisper, felt her motivation drain away. She had been reviewing her mistakes from the math quiz, but now, she felt a wave of despair. Even Chi Lin had scored sixty points, while she had barely managed thirty… The looming college entrance exam filled her with dread. Am I doomed?
As Chi Lin left the building, the rain intensified, the wind whipping her umbrella. She reached the taxi stand, only to find a row of identical vehicles, all waiting for passengers. The heavy rain obscured the view through the windows. She couldn’t tell which car was Lou Mi’s. She should have sent me the license plate number…
She circled the cars, then, trying to send a message, nearly lost her umbrella to the wind.
Lin Xiaozhi, sitting next to Wei Zhuoning’s empty desk, had planned to tease her, but seeing the tears in her eyes, she paused. Wei Zhuoning quickly lowered her head.
Lin Xiaozhi bit her knuckle, a habit when she was excited. Even with Wei Zhuoning’s head down, she could see her wet eyelashes. I went too far. I made her cry.
“Why aren’t you gone yet?” Wei Zhuoning asked, her voice stiff, without looking up. “Did you fail the math quiz too?”
“One hundred thirty-nine. Highest in the class. Top ten in the grade,” Lin Xiaozhi replied.
“So you’re here to gloat.”
Lin Xiaozhi rested her head on her arms, looking at Wei Zhuoning’s tearful, yet defiant, eyes.
“Hey, no staring!”
Lin Xiaozhi, unafraid of her outburst, said softly, “I’m not here to gloat. Really.”
Is she here to help me study? Is she that nice? Wei Zhuoning wondered.
“I just wanted to see what you look like when you cry,” Lin Xiaozhi continued.
The wind and rain intensified. Chi Lin struggled with her umbrella, trying to turn it right-side up. Just as she was about to give up, a large umbrella appeared above her, shielding her from the rain. A slender arm reached around her, helping her close her broken umbrella. She felt a soft pressure against her back, a familiar scent cutting through the smell of rain.
She turned and looked up. Lou Mi’s brown hair, slightly disheveled by the wind, framed her face. Her mask was pulled down to her chin, revealing her features. Her protective stance was almost like an embrace.
“I thought you didn’t have an umbrella,” she said, opening the car door for Chi Lin.
Chi Lin got in, and Lou Mi took her umbrella, closing it with one hand while holding her own umbrella with the other. She got into the driver’s seat, water dripping from her hair.
“You’re soaked.”
“I’ll survive. There are two presents in the back, from my dad. One for you, one for me. It’s my grandpa’s birthday. We can’t show up empty-handed. Choose one.”
“Anything is fine…”
“I knew you’d say that. The big one is fishing gear. The small one is opera tickets. Pretend you bought them. My grandpa loves opera.”
“Okay.”
Lou Mi set the destination and glanced at Chi Lin, still in her school uniform, her face flushed.
“Did you catch a cold already? Your face is red.”
“It’s… warm in the car…” She couldn’t possibly admit that the close contact had reminded her of the… accuracy of the nickname “Big Mimi.”
Lou Mi touched her forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever. Tell me if you feel unwell.”
“Okay…” Chi Lin’s blush deepened as Lou Mi’s hand lingered. She turned to look out the window, avoiding eye contact for the rest of the ride.
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